One winter too many

Reflecting on mum's passing...briefly

Spring was now only a change in wind direction away
as winter slowly petered out.
Snow drops and daffodils appeared overnight
emerging colourfully from the thawing earth,
a thousand yellow and white heads nodding in a cold, swaying breeze.
Above, reaching skywards, life could be seen birthing from grey, barren branches
upon which newly formed choirs heralded the dawning day,
a chorus of birdsong echoing through fog heavy air.


In a quiet, cold, now unoccupied apartment,
flower filled vases sat on tables, sideboards, cills,
each bouquet containing a love filled note,
mothers day wishes.
It seemed ironic that these beautiful flowers, picked to die,
would outlive the recipient,
this being one winter too many for her ill and ageing body to bare.

Reviews

[softlyfall]

Powerful analogy- the picked flowers living in a room where the person who picked them has died. It isn't really sardonic because it is not a negative thing, just ironic because it is a life thing. if there is a grand illustrator/orchestrator of life, he/she has a sense of irony, for sure.

[Gee]

Thanks for reading and commenting :)

[softlyfall]

Of course- I look forward to reading more

[Gee]

Please arrive with low expectations m'dear :))

[Lisasview]

Your poem brough tears to my eyes as I remember so several deaths of loved ones in my life.. The image of flowers in vases that are still alive is wonderful..
Lisa

[Gee]

Thank you Lisa

[Ada]

Loss is never an easy topic but you write about it with so much character such as the yellow and white nodding heads- flowers and birthing from gray barren branches...almost reads like a commemoration of motherhood wrapped up in the guise of nature.

[Gee]

I always thought I would be prepared when mum died as she had been ill so many times over the years, how wrong I was.
Thank you Ada

[T.S. Ulmus]

It's the fifth poem about death that I've read from you, I finally got it, I'm very sorry for your loss. My own mother has cancer, not the kind that you get to skip away from, her loss will be devastating. I cherish the hours that I have with her now. I'm so sorry that all those hours are spent for you.

[Gee]

I'm so sorry to read about your mothers illness. Yes, cherish the time that you have together, memories are a poor second best :)
I have always found death a better companion when writing, this however does not reflect my personality as many folk would tell you.
(Very few folk know that I try my hand at this ol' writing malarkey )
Again thank you

[Roland Petrov]

This is beautifully written. Living in the desert of Southern California, I do not miss the English winters of my childhood, but I do have fond memories of bluebells in the woods in spring. The last line is very poignant. This is a rather special poem.

[Gee]

Thank you very much Roland

[Annette Pisano-Higley]

"It seemed ironic that these beautiful flowers, picked to die,
would outlive the recipient,
this being one winter too many for her ill and ageing body to bare."
I feel your grief and sense of loss so sharply here, dear Gee. The death of one's mother leaves a gaping hole in their very substance, soul, heart and spirit.. Your beautifully graceful and lyrical introduction to Spring in the first verse, then shocks us to the core in the last one. I lost my Mother ten years ago. Holidays seem to make the grief more acute. And so it passes, until the next day. Profound poem my friend.

[Gee]

Thank you Annette :)
Hope you are well and have a great Christmas and the new year proves to be a vast improvement on the old.
Take care

[Haley]

This is beautiful and moving!

[Gee]

Thank you Haley

[Beccy]

'On tables, sideboards, cills, sat flower filled vases,
each bouquet with a love filled note,...'

It is those thoughts and memories that will linger. A decade and a half or so ago now, I though my life was over when my grandparents, both maternal and paternal, passed away within what seemed a blur of just three or so short years. I loved them all dearly, but I miss my nan on my father's side the most.

Her house was filled with books and she loved poetry. I shall never forget how as a very young child, she introduced me to the joy of poetry. From a very early age, right through to us going off to Uni, (my sister first, then me,) we stayed over on many a weekend and nan and I would read together, (mostly the English Romantics and the Welsh lyrical poets.) It's where my own love of poetry stems from.

The pain fades and dulls, the love never does.

Beccy. X

[Gee]

The heart certainly heals and tears slowly dry up as time passes.
The only family I have ever known are mum and my siblings. The old man scarpered when we were tots and all relatives lived in Scotland and Liverpool so never got to see any of them.
Got to see a few foster and kids homes though which was an eye opener :))
All of us that read you owe your gran a huge thank you.
Hope you are all doing well.
Thank you.

[Stella Armour]

I feel, in the nicest way that i would like to give you a ((hug)) my friend, i know from your writing that you are unhappy... sending love and positive thoughts ..

[Gee]

Thank you Stella. Thankfully my writing is sadder than I actually am :)
Mum has been gone getting on for 20months now so am healing nicely. It is touching that folk care...thank you

[Stella Armour]

Grief can take a long time to heal , it can't be rushed :)

[Patricia]

Again your poetry is so heartfelt and beautiful sadness. Thank you for sharing it.

[Gee]

Again thank you Patricia